


glow in the dark stars

by GStK



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24622675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GStK/pseuds/GStK
Summary: most treasured memory. spilling backstory.
Relationships: Belial/Lucilius (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	glow in the dark stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PlumTea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/gifts).



“This is a double, right?”

Lucilius gives an aggressive-sounding grunt. It’s supposed to be a confirmation.

Today’s evening is tomorrow’s stillbirth. Tides roll in out across the balcony. They’re crimson refraction from the sky, fireworks rushing the shore for their last hurrah. The wavebreaker pods shatter them into maidens’ tears.

“Have a look at the bedroom.”

Lucilius drags himself up from the guardrail, his spine giving a slick _crack_. He is all bone. He is bone. Bone becomes avatar of the quantum self. He is the alpha and he is the omega. Belial is mankind, the beta, here to provide a little crucifixion and a lot of love, baby.

He assesses the situation before Belial can say anything. “A single,” he observes coldly. There’s only one bed.

 _And there was only one bed!_ Belial will text to Cagliostro later. Now, they spread their fingers like a bat’s vestigial structures. Open, wanting, waiting, awaiting. Pure cotton. 100%. Twelve million thread count. (Have they read it right? They look back. Twelve hundred. Similar, but not the same.) It’s pristine and prestigious for the amount of money they’ve spent to get away from work, life, Gran and Djeeta. Their _spawn_ , Lucilius calls them. On the days Belial feels like a dad, they call them _brats_.

“So I guess this means,” Belial says, poking their eyebrows to the top of their head, “you’ll get your coochie faster than planned.”

“I’m going to quarantine you,” Lucilius threatens dully-- dull, like the blade Commodus offered to the gladiators who fought him in the colosseum. It promises betrayal. It wants to be betrayed. Belial puts a hand on Lucilius’ bare chest. (With his shirt pulled down like this, pulled down a little more by Belial’s desiring hands, they can see the scars from Lucilius’ chest surgery. They’re white and beautiful and perfect.)

They crack a grin and find themselves thrown onto that lone bed, the strength in Lucilius’ single hand alone a thing to marvel at. They bounce spritely: once, twice, and then Lucilius is upon them. Their wrists gather up at the headpost, though Lucilius does not pin them. Their eyelashes flutter, though Lucilius’ breath twists upon their lips.

“Fill me up,” begs Belial, inhales heaving their chest, turning into pants.

“Happily,” Lucilius replies. His face is unmoved when Belial moans. He leans against their ear, and Belial’s heart short-circuits. He whispers, “With formaldehyde. Methanol. Glutaraldehyde.”

Belial giggles high up in their throat. “You’re going to make me a cadaver? What a waste!”

“You wish me to find further use for you in this life?” taunts Lucilius. He draws back, eyes trailing away distantly, disrespectfully, just the way Belial loves. “You do not tell me what is wasteful or not, you worthless excuse for a human being.”

Belial’s eyes slide closed in a show of bliss. Their entire body runs north and south with tingles. “Who knows?” they reply. “Last I heard, we were good friends.”

They can all but hear Lucilius roll his eyes. “Is that what you tell Metera?” Their mother. Lucilius’ mother-in-law. Then there’s her wife, Korwa. (Lucilius doesn’t speak to her.) Then there’s her other wife, Ilsa. (Lucilius and her share a furtive respect of the pyrotechnic nature.) But Belial’s not here to hear drivel about their three mothers. They give their best erotic moan and try to clamp their thighs over Lucilius’ hips. He stops them, and Belial gives a spastic gasp of excitement when he shuffles their positions. Air meets their lower half. Above, Lucilius seats himself against the headboard. His hips hover inches from Belial’s face. Belial strains their gaze up to look at their husband. Their husband looks down at them, bored, tapping a gloved hand against the polished wood.

“Are you just going to sit there.” It is not a question. If they sit for one more second, this chance will disappear.

Belial applies themselves enthusiastically to the task of pulling Lucilius’ zipper down. They use their mouth for all they’re worth. Lucilius does not moan, doesn’t so much as shudder, but his warm heat on top of them is enough.

When he cums, Belial could cry tears of happiness.

So they do. Lucilius kicks them.

Love.


End file.
